


It Just Needs a Feminin Spark

by Bisexuwhale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcoholic John, Alive Hale Family, Character Death, Dead Claudia Stilinski, Death Magic, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hopefully better future, I have no idea where this is going, Independence, John is a Bit Not Good, Kinda, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Multi, Nice Peter, Other, Polish Ancestors, Reincarnation, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sad John, Sad home life, Self-Insert, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles has a twin, Stiles is a cute kid, Stuffed Toys, at least in the beginning, unhealthy codependence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:16:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7662742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bisexuwhale/pseuds/Bisexuwhale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regaining my past life's memories was not part of the plan, in fact there really isn't a plan but I sure wasn't expecting this! At least I have an awesome brother and the knowledge magic exists to get me through this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In a Spark far far away

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm probably not going to keep a regular schedule on updating this but I don't plan on abandoning this EVER.
> 
> I don't own Teen wolf, if I did Stiles would have ended up with Peter or Derek and Scott would have been a better friend. I hope you enjoy~

 

* * *

 

I died.

 

At this point I wonder why I even care anymore. It's not like it was my first time experiencing death.

 

Granted, being pushed down the stairs by your mentally ill mother isn't a nice way to go. If I was a regular 9 year old I would be traumatized for life; seeing as I'm a 42 year old woman in a 9 year olds body I might just be slightly unbalanced instead. Then again, I developed memories of a past life (and death) so being slightly unbalanced is more than likely an understatement of epic proportions.

 

I wasn't always this way; I had a great childhood (the second time around, because my first one sucked). A father who loved me unconditionally, a mother who wasn't slowly losing her mind, and an awesome twin brother whose only problem was getting people to pronounce his name correctly.

 

In the beginning I didn't remember my past life; all I knew was that I loved my family. Going to the park and playing on the swings (because I was going to fly dammit) or the monkey bars (watch me, dad look I'm doing it) was the highlight of my day. Going to school and having to learn boring things from boring teachers was the pit fall of my day. Having a best friend and older brother thrown into the body of my twin was the greatest thing _ever._ Laughing and playing with my family was the life I've always wanted _,_ I was _happy._

 

Then my mom got sick.

 

It was a gradual process. At first it was just some headaches. Come home from school and try to keep quiet because mommy was taking a nap, her head _hurts._

 

Then it turned into migraines; but _mommy was fine, she didn't need to go to the doctors._

 

Then she collapsed.

 

It was the worst moment of my life (at the time); she wouldn't wake up. The doctors moved in and out of her hospital room but they wouldn't tell us what was wrong. Dad was upset, the most upset I've ever seen him (even more then the time I fell -cough-jumped-cough- from the second story window with a blanket -cape- tied around my neck; don't worry, a bush caught me).

 

Even my big brother (he insists that the 12.8 minutes between our births is important) was silent and still. He is _never_ still. Sure he has his moments of silence, usually when we get in trouble but never have I seen my brother stop moving. He's always fidgeting, always flailing. Mom said it was because he was special (ADHD) I just thought he did it because that was just how he is.

 

So we sat and waited.

 

. . .

 

Frontotemporal dementia.

 

That was the first time I saw my dad cry.

 

* * *

In the beginning I didn't know what frontotemporal dementia was; neither did my brother, so we did what we did best, we researched it.

 

My brother was the kid that asked a billion questions and still wanted to know more, this is probably why I was known as the 'silent' twin; why would I need to talk when my twin asked everything needed and more?

 

Looking back, we probably worried our parents a lot; one twin who couldn't keep their mouth shut and another that wouldn't open theirs.

 

As we grew older we noticed that grown-ups hated being asked questions, especially 'stupid' ones (how could a question be stupid?) then we learned about the wonderful creation known as Google.

 

Over time our google-fu powers (because we are kickass ninja researchers) only grew stronger, which led us to finding out everything we could on frontotemporal dementia.

 

_**Death** _

 

Our mother was going to die.

 

Our dad kept us out of the loop even though we spent more time with our mom in the hospital than he did (he was recently appointed sheriff), but that's ok, we didn't tell him that we already knew.

 

So we took mom home, because the doctors couldn't do anything for her and she wanted to get out of the hospital. Life went on.

 

We went to school.

 

Dad went to work.

 

Mom stayed home and slept most of the day.

 

It worked.

 

It wasn't fine; it would never be fine, my mom was dying, but it worked.

 

Then she lost it.

 

My brother and I got home from school and tried to stay quite in case mom was sleeping. I went to the kitchen to get us some drinks; my brother went upstairs to check on mom. Climbing up on the counter was easy (even if I wasn't supposed to), getting the cups down was simple, hearing my mother start screaming was horrifying.

 

I ran upstairs in time to witness my brother come tumbling out of our parents' room; the look of fear etched on his face chilled me to the core. Frozen, I watched as he came running towards me, waving his arms frantically. Watching my mom come swinging after him a few moments later boiled my blood and warmed my body back up in time to do something about it. No time to think, just act.

 

I ran forward the few feet still between us and grabbed his hand, pivoted on my left foot and dashed toward the stairs. We didn't make it.

 

Our mother lunged, missed grabbing us, but managed to shove us off course.

 

We fell.

I don't remember much of falling; for all I attempted to fly by jumping from dangerous places it never felt as falling down those stairs felt.

 

I landed at the bottom

 

There was a body on top of me

 

My mother was still screaming

 

I blacked out.

 

When I awoke, I was in a hospital. Drowsy, I wondered if I fell asleep while waiting for dad to come pick us up from visiting mom.

 

Then I remembered.

 

I remembered everything.

 

* * *

 

Turns out I was in the hospital for over 6 months in a coma.

 

A miracle they said; I was a miracle because I died. My heart stopped beating.

 

Apparently when I fell down the stairs I landed first which resulted with my bigger brother landing on top of me. My skull fractured, I lost too much blood in the ambulance.

 

My heart stopped before we even reached the hospital.

 

Somehow I came back; my heart started beating again, but no matter what they tried I wouldn't wake up. They thought I would be in a coma for the rest of my life and if I did wake up I would never be the same.

 

They had no idea.

 

I'm sure they meant something about being paralyzed due to my vegetable state, not because I regained memories of a previous lifetime.

 

Thinking about it, my dad and brother probably had it worse than my mother or me.

 

Sure I regained a lifetime of memories while my mother was slowly losing hers but my brother and dad had to watch this happen.

 

A wife and mother slowly dying, a daughter and sister balancing the fine edge of life and death while unresponsive; it must have been emotionally excruciating watching half of your family slowly wither way.

 

My mother died on August 14th, 2004.

 

I woke up a week later.

 

* * *

 

It took a while to get me released; the doctors wanted to run a bunch of tests.

 

It was annoying as hell.

 

The only reason I didn't lose my cool was because I had my brother by my side the entire way. He got to take a few weeks off school; mostly because once he learned I was awake we became conjoined twins instead of fraternal.

 

He helped me more than he realizes. During the first couple days I was still acclimating to not only 6 months spent in a coma but also a lifetime of memories as well. His presence helped me realize who I was, where I was, and how to accept _yes,_ _this is reality_.

 

When I woke up from my coma I was different. I was more quiet (if that was possible), reserved, and I spaced out often. I didn't smile as much, didn't mind eating vegetables as much (in fact, I preferred them), and I was always touching my brother in some way.

 

The doctors put it off as quirks from waking from a coma and fracturing my skull; I put it down as combined habits from two different lives.

 

It was fine though because I wasn't the only one who changed. My brother was still loud and spastic as ever but in my absence he became more mature, more sarcastic. He didn't look through rose tinted glasses anymore and that optimistic outlook on life vanished; in its place was a realist you wouldn't expect in a 10 year old, but it was ok because he was still _here._

 

My father on the other hand didn't change for the better. He rarely visited me except for the initial reunion when I woke up to him crying over me.

 

He tried to explain it away by saying being the sheriff was a busy job; I knew better. The few times he came to visit he smelled strongly of alcohol and couldn't keep eye contact with either me or my brother.

 

I recognized the signs of a budding alcoholic; considering my last life's adoptive father was an alcoholic helped to emphasize the similarities.

 

My brother knew too, he had to with the way he kept looking at our dad when he came to visit. Maybe not to the extent I knew but he wasn't stupid, he probably looked up the possibilities online.

 

It was hard to see the once loving man I knew as my dad turn into a husk of his former self but with my past life memories the revelation probably wasn't as hard to take as it could have been.

 

A week or so went by and I was finally ready to leave the hospital. Looking around I knew I didn't want to come back. My mother died here; I died here.

 

I may have a past life's memories of Anna Green but she's dead now; she died at the age of 33 due to a car crash.

 

Adelajda Stilinski died at the age of 9 due to falling down the stairs.

 

I wasn't Anna or Adelajda anymore, I was reborn into a combination of both and I would live the rest of my life to the fullest with the knowledge given to me.

 

Turning to look at my brother I smiled for the first time in 6 months.

 

"Ready to go home, Stiles?"

 

 


	2. Home is Where The Spark is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope your having a good day~
> 
> Ada- an abbreviated name used in polish for names that have the same beginning sound, ex: Adelajda

 

* * *

 

Dealing with the effects of a coma isn't as easy as movies make it out to be. There's a lot involved with recovering considering bed rest without movement for 6 months deteriorates a person's muscle; it hurt to move some days, my joints would lock up and my muscles would shake from overuse.

 

I was tired _all the time_.

 

There were also problems pertaining to school. I missed 6 months, it's not like I could just pop back in without any issues.

 

So I took up yoga in the mornings and ran laps in the back yard to help me gain my muscle back (Stiles joined me for the running but he was too impatient to do yoga).

 

I took tests for school to see if I could join my year mates or if I should be held back (I passed with flying colors, all those memories of another life made school work easy).

 

The biggest change was moving into Stiles bedroom.

 

Our closeness brought upon my (almost) death and from the hospital stay hasn't changed, if anything we've gotten closer. At every moment we are touching in some way; when we sit our sides touch, when we walk we hold hands. We try not to leave the same room without one another and if we do its never long.

 

In the beginning we shared a bed but kept our rooms mostly separate. As time went on we just decided to share a bedroom and turn the extra room into something else (I voted library, Stiles wanted to turn it into a 'Bat Cave' for when we become famous detectives).

 

So, we removed our bed frames and stuck them in the spare rooms closet (my old room, since Stiles was the 'oldest' he got the biggest room besides the master) and moved our mattresses together in the corner diagonally facing the door. It looked like a big nest of blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals on the floor but it was our nest, and it was comfortable.

 

We moved all the bookshelves and toys into the 'Bat cave' so that we had more room to fit my dresser in the bedroom. The only thing we left alone was the desk and the shared computer on top.

 

The grownup memories that were provided stressed upon how codependent we were being, how the relationship forming was an unhealthy one. What I took from it was that normal people were boring and didn't go through the experiences we did to do what we do. Besides, the memories helped provide ideas on how to keep it a secret from the adults or how to twist the facts to our advantage so that we weren't separated. Not that it would be hard.

 

Father was rarely ever home anymore. If I thought his visiting the hospital was sparse, I was in for a treat because home life vs hospital life was vastly different.

 

In the hospital I was lucky to see him for a few hours a day. At home I was lucky (or unlucky depending) to see him every few days. I didn't really mind. I knew how to take care of myself; what bothered me was that he had been doing this for a while, as in while I was in a coma and Stiles was alone.

 

Suffice to say I took over cooking from then on; watching a 10 year old Stiles attempt to work a stove almost gave me a heart attack (I wonder if I would stay dead). Laundry was easy after I explained how it worked to Stiles (who apparently turned an entire load purple in my absence); besides those two mishaps cleaning the house between the two of us only took half a day if we concentrated.

 

Even grocery shopping was easy; the only issue was money.

 

In my last life I was a couponer; being poor gives a person perspective when buying anything and the lesson "save as much as you can while you can" will probably stick with me forever considering even after dying twice it's a habit.

 

In this life I wasn't poor but neither was I well off. My father was the sheriff; he made a decent amount of money but with all of the hospital bills and the continuous consumption of alcohol we were losing money, fast. So I started couponing again, Stiles didn't mind.

 

The hard part wasn't even transportation; we had bikes, sure that meant we couldn't get a lot of groceries at once and it took an hour round trip instead of 20 mins but it was fine, we were only two people. We didn't need that much and Father ate out most of the time due to never being home.

 

Obtaining money was slightly more difficult; when father came home on those rare occasions it was to drink and sleep. Taking the money that would have just been used on more alcohol was almost a civic duty. The issue was getting that money. For all the alcohol Father drank he was still a cop and he had the observation skills of one; the only time I could steal money was when he got roaring drunk.

 

Once he passed out I would get older bottles thought to have been recycled and stack them among the previously consumed; when he awoke he just assumed the missing money was due to buying more alcohol than usual.

 

Buying the groceries was only hard the first time. Trying to buy groceries as 2 ten year olds was not inconspicuous. Making up lies as to why wasn't too hard, it was trying to do so while convincing them that no, we didn't need them to call our father, and no, _everything's fine, we just wanted to help out. Our mother died and since she used to do the shopping we want to as well; we just want to help our dad out_.

 

After that, it was a piece of cake.

* * *

 

"- and they have super pale skin with two sharp fangs so I feel like it would be easy to spot them and wouldn't it be cool to see them in action, I mean I don't want to have my blood sucked but it would be pretty cool to see it happen to someone else, so long as they didn't die, but then wouldn't they turn, I mean that's how it works right because if they don't kill their victims they turn into Vampires too and that would be-"

 

We were getting ready for bed; Stiles had his Batman, matching top and bottom, PJs on and I wore a big T-shirt that substituted as a night gown with the Hulk plastered on front.

 

"-could that happen? Is it possible to cure a Vampire bite, it could spread you know, like a virus so doesn't that mean that it can be cured; I feel like people need to come up with a response to Vampirism then just checking by shoving a stake through their chests, racism or would it be specieism, anyway its rude; what if they're human with just really strange habits? Not everyone can get tans, some people burn so they avoid the sun, that doesn't make them a Vampire; maybe they should make a device that could sense the infection in a person, I mean that's so much smarter and easier then interrogations and stabbing people, maybe even a-"

 

We just finished watching multiple Vampire themed movies while eating dinner and now Stiles felt the need to talk about everything involving Vampires; not that I minded, I liked that he filled the silence with his babble. I didn't contribute to the conversation besides some languished blinks and slight humming noises. Stiles didn't seem to mind, he knew me well enough to know I was listening.

 

"-then we could become Vampire Overlords and rule with bloody fists, except not really because that would be gross and blood is disgusting, maybe you could be the Vampire Overload and I could be your awesome human partner. That way there's equality, one Vampire ruler and one Human ruler, we could take over the whole world and stop mystery meat from being served in the cafeteria-"

 

Getting into our Nest was nice; my body was still a little sore from running today. I did more than I should have with my body still recovering and now my legs felt like a firm yet squishy Jell-O. I tugged Lucifer closer to me; his white fluff a nice feeling against my cheek.

 

Why we decided to name a sheep stuffed animal Lucifer I don't remember but I defiantly don't regret it. His cute black horns rubbed harmlessly against my nose as I waited for Stiles to crawl in next to me.

 

Still babbling, Stiles adjusted the blankets to his preference until he was satisfied; this resulted in one of his legs sprawled over mine, his arms starfished out, and his face smooshed sideways into a stuffed penguin.

 

"Hey, Ada?"

 

Looking over I saw brown amber eyes staring at me; a face similar to mine gazing back: same cupid bow lips, same slightly upturned nose, and same pale mole doted skin. The only differences were our genders, our hair lengths, the size of our bodies (curse you coma for making that distinction even bigger), and our eyes. He had our mother's eyes. I had our fathers; brown amber vs pale blue.

 

Sometimes I would see his eyes and remember glazed, pain filled orbs from a broken mind but then the memory would pass and the image would be replaced with loyal, loving ones. I knew he wasn't anything like our mother and I felt bad for even comparing the two (our father does that enough for all of us) but sometimes the memories would catch me unawares and I would remember.

 

I wonder if he ever looks into my eyes and sees glazed, pain ( _sadsad **so** sad_) filled orbs from alcohol and loss gazing back.

 

"You won't ever leave me right? Even if I become a Vampire and take over the world, you'll still stand beside me . . . right?"

 

His question was silly but there was a vulnerability hidden behind the layered words, a plea to never be alone. Then I remembered reading about a man from my old life who was alone and tired. Forever jagged pieces shoved back together in a semblance of order to continue on; too little love and too isolated to ever heal.

 

A sad man.

 

A hated man.

 

A hero.

 

Forever alone.

 

I didn't need to think about my answer, not really, not when I looked into bright eyes filled with so much love, for _me_. Opening my mouth I uttered my first words in a long time.

 

" _Always_ "

* * *

 

When I first realized that I was reincarnated I couldn't help but compare my two lives.

 

There were simple differences like how the dates had changed, Anna died sometime during 2016 but Adelajda was 10 and living in 2004. This meant that Harry Potter had been released in book form but the movies haven't been made yet. Some actors that existed in Anna's timeline didn't exist in Adelajda's so some pop culture references were lost and gained. From what Adelajda has learned in school all major events in American history seem to be the same. What I focused on the most was probably the differences between my experiences in both life's.

 

Anna Green was a poor, minimally educated woman with a history of abusive relationships.

 

Anna never knew her parents. Her younger years were spent in an orphanage where all she really remembers is loud noises and too much loneliness for being somewhere with so many people.

 

At the age of 7 Anna was adopted by a young couple; for the first time Anna hoped for a place to call her own, maybe even a place to call her home. Looking back, she wondered how she could have been so stupid.

 

Anna's adoptive mother was fine; a little too overbearing but she picked her out of all the other orphans, so there had to be some kind of connection present. Anna's adoptive father was barley ever home; he had to work a lot and when he was home he sat down in his recliner and drank a beer.

 

When Anna was 11 her adoptive father lost his job, her adoptive mother didn't have a job and suddenly things weren't so simple anymore. In the beginning it wasn't too bad; Anna's adoptive father still had hope in getting a new job, they would maybe have to move or downsize but that was hardly the end of the world. It wasn't until a few months had passed with no progress that things hit a tipping point. Anna's adoptive mother ran away with a new provider and left Anna to fend for herself.

 

A few days later Anna was hit for the first time, after that things only seemed to move in a downwards spiral.

 

She got a job at the age of 14. She had her first taste of alcohol at 15. Her first boyfriend convinced her to have sex at the age of 16.

 

Her adoptive father continued to take out his anger on her.

 

Alcohol was both her savior and her tormentor.

 

At the age of 17 she was too thin, skin too pale in a sickly hue, and bruises decorated her body like a canvas. She was 18 at a party the first time someone raped her. At 19 she was arrested for buying drugs from an undercover cop.

 

At 22 she was released from jail, got a job as a hostess, and bought a shabby apartment after living on the streets for a few months. She was 23 when she lost her job and apartment.

 

At 24 she was a competent enough street performer to rent a small room in a complex. At 25 she bought an old beat up truck and decided to go on a road trip. At 26, for the first time in a long while, Anna felt a semblance of happiness. At 27 Anna became a member of a nonprofit group that worked for the improvement of the environment. She did her first speech on the importance of national parks at the age of 28. At 29 she became a well-known activist and wrote multiple articles in the hopes of spreading awareness. At 30 she finally felt like she found a home to call her own. She rescued a stray German Shepard at age 31 and named him Cypress. At 32 she had accumulated 2 more dogs and a cat named Wilber.

 

At 33 Anna Green died due to a car crash, her old truck going with her.

 

Adelajda Stilinski was born April 8th, 1994 at 2:47 am. At 1 Adelajda lived in a happy home with her parents and twin brother. At 2 Anna said her first word, "No". At 3 Adelajda was successfully toddling around and was introduced to the community via preschool. Adelajda and Stiles became thick as thieves at 4. At the age of 5 she discovered the wonders of actual school and the boredom that came from listening to teachers trying to teach. At age 6 Adelajda jumped out of a window in the hopes of flying, she was also grounded for the first time. Adelajda felt the first stirrings of jealousy at the age of 7 when Stiles fell in love with Lydia Martin and would not stop talking about her. At age 8, when on vacation camping, Adelajda realized she had never been happier then while spending time with her family in the woods.

 

At 9 Adelajda's mom developed Frontotemporal dementia; her mother killed Adelajda by pushing her down the stairs.

 

At 10 Ada was neither Anna nor Adelajda and now she had to continue living on in this world as a combination of both.

 

__

* * *

 

In a few short weeks everything went wrong; Ada helped him look up what was happening to their mother.

 

Frontotemporal dementia; his mom was dying.

 

Nothing was the same after. Dad started crying randomly, mostly throughout the nights when he didn't know Stiles was still awake. His sister Ada was becoming more of a recluse during school; even Jackson noticed and didn't bother us. I just couldn't wrap my head around the idea of it; my mother was dying. I knew the scientific terms for why but I still didn't understand it! Why couldn't anyone do anything? The disease was slow acting, surely they could think of something to prevent death; anything was better than his mother dying.

 

He was wrong.

 

His sister was in a coma because of _him_.

 

He didn't mean to, Stiles only meant to check to see if his mom was ok. When he opened his parents' bedroom door his mom was awake, staring out the window.

 

He remembers calling out. His mother turned and started screaming.

 

He was a monster she said. He was trying to kill her. He and his sister were trying to kill her.

 

He was scared, so he ran.

 

He remembers Ada standing at the top of the stairs in horrified confusion. He remembers her grabbing his hand and dashing towards the stairs. He remembers feeling a hand shove against his back as he stumbled into his sister.

 

He doesn't remember the fall. He doesn't remember much of the events after; only that it was his fault.

 

It was red _red_ **red** _redRED_ RED **RED** _his_ FA _lt_ **Red** rED ** _RED_** , his hands were covered in _red_.

 

Blood

 

His sister's blood was on his hands. It was _HIS FAULT_.

 

His father wouldn't look at him. His mother continued to call him a monster. His sister wouldn't wake up.

 

He didn't know what to do anymore.

 

How could he function without his other half?

 

His mother called them monsters, abominations, _Freaks. . ._ and maybe it was true, at least when it came to him.

 

His mother died and the first feeling he felt was Happiness.

 

He regretted it afterward, felt guilt for being happy that his mother couldn't torment him anymore but it still remains a fact that he felt the emotion. He was happy that his mother wouldn't scream how his sister was evil, a devil, was **_death incarnate_** , that she deserved to _die_.

 

For a week he felt hallow. His mother died. His father still ignored him. He just wanted to feel something other than emptiness. He didn't want to be alone anymore.

 

Then his sister woke up and it was like seeing in color for the first time.

 

She was a bit different but that was ok, he was a bit different too. The hallow ache was gone but its phantom pains still existed; telling him how it wouldn't last forever, how she would leave him just like everyone else, how he would be alone again.

 

For now he ignored the pain because his sister was awake.

 

Watching her recover in the hospital he wondered what his mother saw to make her think that Ada; small, pale, silent Ada was something to fear.

 

If he was a demon, then Ada was an angel.

 

Long curls of chestnut hair leading to pale blue eyes; he knew the resemblance between them and their mother was present. They shared similar faces but Ada was different.

 

He saw what happened to his mother before she died. Saw the crazed look in her eyes, saw how her hair thinned out and then was removed entirely. He saw the gaunt skin and heard the crackly loss of voice.

 

Then he saw Ada. Ada, who just woke up from a coma and still looked radiant; sure she looked a little thin and her skin was a touch too pale but she was the most beautiful thing Stiles had ever seen.

 

When they got home he was scared to feel that emptiness again. His dad was still avoiding him and his mother was dead; that's two less people to fill the void and yet everything stayed in color.

 

Ada made dinner. He didn't remember her ever making food with the stove before but she did and it tasted wonderful. She taught him how to do laundry correctly and he didn't question it.

 

He learned how to coupon, how to lie more effectively, and how to cover his tracks when stealing.

 

He learned how to sleep with another person beside him and how to be patient when his sister couldn't be with him at all times.

 

He learned how Ada liked to snuggle when sleeping, how even though she didn't talk didn't mean she wasn't responding to his questions, but most importantly he learned to accept the void.

 

The ache left over from his 6 months of loneliness would never leave him but now he knew he was loved, that he had a place to call his own, a home.

 

He had Ada and even if she wasn't an angel, if she turned out to be a monster like his mother said, then at least they could be monsters together.

 

" _Always_ "

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed! Got a little sad at the end but hopefully it wasn't too bad~ Please comment!


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